Fading Flames
by Noximillian
Summary: AU. It is rare for teens to be acknowledged as Huntresses. Ruby Rose, the daughter of a famous Huntress, and Weiss Schnee, sole heir to the Schnee Corporation, are the exceptions that prove the rule. When a tragic event tears their families apart, Weiss and Ruby must work together to find and take revenge on the people responsible- and hopefully find peace in the process.
1. Prologue

Some days, Min Zheng regretted choosing to open a Dust store in this listless, backwater town.

It wasn't that opening the store had been a bad business decision. Quite the opposite, in fact; in a town this small, he had virtually no competition. He had more lien than he knew what to do with, most days. He even loved his dinky little store, with its creaking roof and hand-carved shelving.

He sighed, peering through the windows that decorated the front doors. He could see glimpses of the festival through them, the dancers cavorting through the streets, children laughing as they ran through the streets with wooden swords, dressing as the great heroes of legend.

No, his problem wasn't the money. It was the responsibility the job entailed. The festival was a day of merriment, a day where everybody could just ignore their responsibilities for a day- except him. He had to sit in his store, surrounded by the faintly cotton-like smell of Dust, sifting through old, yellowed receipts and dozens of false reports of Grimm activity near the farms surrounding the city.

A gust of warm air blew through the shop, and Min quickly slammed his hand down on the papers scattered haphazardly over the redwood counter. Noise flowed in, the sound of music and laughter filling his store briefly before the door swung closed behind her.

The door swung closed behind her. He waited for the tinkling chimes of the bell to die before he spoke hesitantly. "Can I help you with anything?"

While the store was open, he hadn't expected to actually see anyone come in- even Hunters usually took the day off, giving themselves one day a year where they could just rest and relax. Occasionally people did wander in, wanting to see a Hunter's equipment for themselves, but there were at least three actual Hunters in the city at the moment, so why anyone would think to visit his store was beyond him.

The fact that the girl was young, probably not even in her late teens, just confused him further. Her hair was short and uneven, cut roughly as if someone had simply cut it with a knife when it grew too long, but it was long enough to cover her eyes from his gaze when she looked down at the floor. A long, flowing cloak concealed most of her figure, but he could see her scrawny legs, thinner than he liked. He self-consciously patted his gut- the pastries in the bakery across the street were expensive, but delicious...

"I hope so..." The girl weaved her way through the shelves that dotted the store, taking care to avoid tripping over the crates of Dust scattered haphazardly beneath them. The shelves, filled with crystals of all colours and sizes, were blatantly ignored as she made her way to the counter, then stopped, biting her lip. "I need some, uh, Propulsion Dust, please. Military standard, if you have some. Fine, but not too fine- I need it for a heavy-duty assault weapon."

Min glanced quickly over the girl. She had seemed timid when she walked in, but as she had talked about the Dust she needed, she'd grown more confident. It was obvious she knew what she was talking about.

He arched an eyebrow, hoping his pause hadn't been noticeable. "Would Grade 2 be fine enough?"

She shook her head, absently tapping a pouch on her belt. "That's too fine, I don't want to risk it backfiring. Have you got any Grade 3? I could use Grade 4, but it has a tendency to leave residue on the barrel, and it's really hard to clean off."

"Sure, I have Grade 3," he said cheerfully. Grade 2 was too fine for use in a heavy duty assault weapon- it was far too volatile to risk jostling it around in the types of situations that would call for such a weapon. His own little test, of sorts- it wouldn't do his reputation any good to sell Dust to any random girl that walked into his store, after all. "How much do you need?"

She tilted her head to the side, mouthing to herself for a moment. "Um, two pounds?" she asked weakly.

Most of his Dust was stored securely in an underground bunker, well away from the hands of anyone who didn't know what to do with it. The Dust in the storefront was mostly crystals and Grade 5 stuff, the type of Dust that wouldn't explode if mishandled, kept out for decorative purposes- the store was drab, filled with plain wooden shelving and grey stone walls. The Dust crystals added some welcome colour to the place, particularly during the evening, when he could light the lanterns that adorned the walls. The colours were truly mesmerizing then.

He did keep a crate full of the more volatile Dusts on hand for situations like this, though. It was rare that anyone needed more than a dozen or so pounds of Dust at once, so he could keep small amounts of it out here with him to ensure quick sales.

As he bent down, pulling the crate of Dust stored beneath the counter out, he spoke up. "You planning to stay for the festival?"

"I think so." The girl didn't sound too certain of herself, but as she spoke, her voice firmed. "Yeah, I'll probably stick around for a few days. Why? Are the Grimm causing issues?"

He snorted before he could stop himself. "Always causing issues, little miss. If you're planning to stick around, there's some Ursa bothering the farmers around. None of the Hunters around here have managed to track them down yet." He rose, holding a thin glass tube containing the Dust she had asked for.

"I'll get them." She sounded so confident that Min was taken aback for a moment, before he silently sighed. Overconfidence had killed more Hunters than any Grimm. "Are there any more? I- I could, uh, use the money."

He blinked slowly, trying to rapidly sort through the reports of nearby Grimm. There were quite a few Grimm causing issues nearby- Boarbatusk, more Ursa, even reports of a Death Stalker, as ridiculous as the notion was- but most of them were deadly. He didn't want the death of a teenager on his hands.

"There's a pack of Beowulves that just moved in nearby," he said casually. "The Mayor's issued a bounty for them- five thousand lien, but you have to bring back proof of their death. Here's your Dust."

The girl hesitantly took the Dust. "Thank you. Um, how much is that?"

He watched her reactions closely. "Two pounds of Grade 3 Red Dust is… one hundred lien." Her shoulders slumped, and he quickly cut her off as she opened her mouth to speak. "But it's the Day of Resurgence- I think I can afford fifty lien on today of all days, don't you think?"

She drew herself up, before sighing slightly and letting herself slump back down. "Thank you," she mumbled, reaching into one of the pouches on her belt and pulling out the coins.

He palmed the glazed wooden coins, mentally wincing- he was down a hundred lien now. "It's not an issue," he said as cheerfully as he could. "Always nice to meet a new Huntress. My name's Min Zheng- what's your name?" He held his hand out.

She took it, shaking his hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong for such a small girl "Ruby," she replied. "Thank you again, Min."

Making a rude noise, he waved dismissively. "I told you, it's not an issue. If you need any more help, don't be afraid to come see me, okay?"

The corner of Ruby's lip twitched, and she nodded her acknowledgement as she turned to leave.

The bell rang twice as she left, a timid sound that nonetheless seemed to drown the sounds of the festival outside, and he slumped at his desk.

It was a sorry state of affairs when a town was so bad off it couldn't afford to turn a child's offer of assistance down.


	2. Chapter 1

People ran around her, dressed in bright reds, whites and blues. Shrieks of laughter rose above the murmurs of the crowds for a brief moment, before the murmurings reared up and drowned them once again. Music pulsed in the background; the sound of beating drums and the shrill, keening cords of flutes underpinned everything, an omnipresent note of festivity.

Ruby flinched as a child pushed past her. The child, covered in dirt and grime, paused for a moment- "Sorry, Miss!"- then caught sight of another child and ran away, shrieking with laughter. Another child soon followed him, this one waving a piece of wood with another tied across it lengthways, a crude caricature of a sword. She moved to the side, and the second child rushed past her, not sparing her so much a glance.

Towns were loud. It wasn't just the noise, the overpowering murmurings of a crowd, the sound of feet scraping on stone and chickens clucking and barrels jostling on the back of a cart as an ox pulled it along through the streets, although that was bad enough- how could people think with so much noise around them?

No, it wasn't just the noise. It was everything. It was the colours, the clothes of the people around her, dyed bright blue, bright green, bright yellow- it almost hurt her to look at. It was the smells, fresh bread, tanning leather, cloying perfumes, other, less mentionable smells that had choked her as she approached the town and only grown worse as time had passed. It was the way everyone looked at her, smiling and laughing and gesturing for her to come and look at their goods when she just wanted to be left alone.

It was so different to her home, the small cottage in the woods with nobody around but Mother-

She shook her head violently. No, she had things to do today. She couldn't let herself fall down that pit again.

Unconsciously wrapping her cloak tighter around her body, she moved through the town, heading along the widest roads that cut through the centre. Three of them cut through the centre, meeting in the town square, where the largest businesses stood- a marketplace, full of fresh greens and coarse brown sacks of rice, a blacksmith, a carpenter, an inn. All the miscellaneous buildings that everyone needed, the buildings that naturally popped up along roads that travelling merchants took.

Not that merchants actually travelled along roads any more- not when it was almost as cheap and far, far safer to just hire a train or an airship. Airships had only been developed relatively recently, though, when Ruby was a child, and towns like this wouldn't evolve to accommodate that fact for a long time yet.

The square was crowded. She wasn't quite tall enough to see what everyone was crowding around, but she could take a guess- music was playing in that direction, and she could hear shouts of awe. It was probably a propaganda piece- a lot of mayors and such paid Hunters to run them in festivals and such. The Hunters would capture a Grimm- a Beowulf, a Boarbatusk, an Ursa Minor, one of the lesser Grimm- and fight it in front of a crowd. They'd make a the fight look as impressive as they could- sometimes by effortlessly defeating the Grimm, sometimes by showing off how menacing the Grimm could be and killing it after an intense struggle, supposedly showing off the Hunter's skill.

Her mother had always disapproved of the practice. "If we want the people to think that they are safe, then we should fight to make them safe. People won't be scared of the Grimm if the Grimm don't attack them. Making a spectacle of it mocks our profession."

The crowd pressed in on Ruby. No matter how she tried, she couldn't navigate it properly- people kept pressing up against her, brushing their arms against her leg, bumping her shoulder with their chests as they squeezed past. The smell of stale sweat and wine clouded the air, only worsening her headache, and the air seemed to grow warmer as she passed.

It seemed to take hours for her make her way through the crowd, although it likely only took her minutes. It was long enough that she almost felt like collapsing by the time she arrived at the inn's door, a sturdy slab of wood that slid open easily on well-oiled hinges as she pushed on it.

The inn's outer walls had been painted to look warm and inviting, a soft red colour designed not to clash overly much with the reddish soil of the region. The inside was designed along the same lines; simple paintings of forests and oceans dotted the walls, and red curtains hung over plain glass windows. The chairs and tables that decorated the dining space were nothing special, but they were lined with leather and padded seating. A pleasant smell hung around the area- sandalwood; they probably used scented candles to disguise the scent of the compost used to grow the plants that hung around the building.

Low murmuring filled the building, but the solid door muffled the worst of the sound. Most of the sound was coming from the tables, which were thankfully mostly unoccupied. Not that she'd expected an inn to be full of customers well after noon on the day of a festival, but… worries weren't always rational.

A woman- the innkeeper, by the slightly harried look she was wearing and the deference the tavernhands were showing her as they scurried around taking plates and cups- sat behind a desk, talking animatedly with someone, a man standing a good half a metre taller than Ruby. Their hair was the same colour, a sandy blonde, but she was always really bad about telling when two people were siblings anyway. They probably weren't.

She shifted nervously. She was supposed to just wait until they'd stopped talking and he moved away, then move forward, right? Or was she supposed to do something to tell them that she was waiting- cough, or something? No, that was rude- or was it?

A frustrated hiss escaped from her. She hated this, hated having to wait in line to talk to people. Why were there always so many people around? Everywhere she went, people, people, people, always making her wait, making everyone wait.

She coughed loudly.

Who cared if they saw her as rude, anyway? It wasn't like she'd be sticking around here for long.

The tavernkeeper straightened, gesturing for her to come closer as the man stepped aside. Ruby did so, glancing uneasily at the man, who took a moment to get the hint before he backed off. The woman's smile seemed to grow strained at that- had she offended her, or something? How? What had she done?

"May I help you?" The woman's tone was polite and professional, nothing like the easy tone of the Dust storekeeper's or the condescending tone of the railman who had sold her a train ticket to come here. She probably would have preferred it if the woman had sounded condescending as well.

"Um, I hope so?" She hoped her voice wasn't too uncertain- people never seemed to take it well when she didn't know what to do straight away. It was really awkward.

There was something else that she was supposed to say there- a simple answer to a ritual question, one that everyone knew and just said automatically. The problem was, she couldn't remember it. What were you supposed to say to that? How was she supposed to know if the woman could help her? It wasn't like she was wearing a badge that listed all the things she could do.

The woman frowned. "Do you need something? Did your parents send you here?" She leaned forward, looking around, but there was nobody to see- the door hadn't opened since Ruby had come in.

Ruby half-shrugged, a movement that mostly involved raising a shoulder and letting it fall dismissively. "I need a room for two nights." She reached into her front pouch, digging around for a moment before triumphantly pulling out her train ticket. "I'm going to Atlas, but the train doesn't leave for two days," she confided.

Blinking, the blonde looked down at the desk, absently playing with the holo-pad sitting in front of it for a moment. "And that's… just for you?" she asked suspiciously.

Half-shrugging again, Ruby nodded. The woman sighed.

"If you want a single room, that'll be forty lien a night, or sixty lien if you want three meals to go with it."

A hundred and twenty lien wasn't so bad- Qrow had paid more than twice that for a double room once, and that had only been for one night. She quickly counted out the coins, then passed them to the woman.

The woman closed her eyes, then turned and fiddled with the wall. A section of it sprung open, revealing a group of cards, with strings attached to them- wearable around the neck, or you could slip them over a hook. Ruby blinked- magnetic locks? They had been new in Vale when she had lived there. This woman, living in a backwater town over a day away from Atlas by train, had managed to install them here so quickly?

"Your room's on the second floor." The woman held one of the cards out. Ruby took it before she could move it out of reach. "Fifth room on the left. Breakfast begins at sunrise and lasts an hour, lunch is at noon and lasts an hour, and dinner at sunset, lasts for two hours. If you're late, you won't get anything."

Nodding quickly, Ruby quirked a smile at her. "Thanks," she said quietly, before turning and making her way to her new room. The magnetic lock was simple to operate; she just pressed it against the door, and the door opened with a loud click, revealing a mostly bare room. Inside was a small table, a bed built for an adult, covered in crisp white sheets, and a small chest at the end of the bed, where she was supposed to put her spare clothes. If only she had any.

She collapsed on the bed, stretching her arms out and yawning. Crescent Rose dug painfully into her side, but she didn't- couldn't- remove it.

Midnight, she decided. Midnight, and she'd wake up. The festival would be over by then, everyone back in their houses to sleep the night away. She could go hunting safely.

She was asleep almost before she knew her eyes had closed.

When Ruby woke, it was dark. She'd overslept- it wouldn't be this dark if it was only just after sunset. By the moonlight streaming through the window of her room, it was nearly midnight, if not just past- she had slept nearly half the night away.

She had needed the sleep, but that didn't make her feel any better.

Ruby eased herself off her bed, stretching once she was back on her feet. She took a moment to massage her back, where she'd slept on Crescent Rose, trying to easing the worst of the ache out. One of these days, she'd have to find a better way to sleep than lying on top of the scythe. Not today, though.

The door opened with a soft click as she pressed the card against it.

Silence permeated the world. The soft tap, tap, tap of her boots on the floorboards was unnaturally loud in her ears, seeming to echo in the hall. Her heart beat, a soft, steady rhythm tapping against her ribs. She could feel her smooth clothing against her skin, she could smell the faint scent of polish and lacquer used to protect the floors, she could taste the dust in the air, dry and foul. The world was still, almost as if it were holding its breath, waiting for her to act.

The staircase creaked slightly as she walked down, but she let the sound wash over her. The stairs were solid and carpeted, but she held her hand against the wall as she moved down anyway- it wouldn't do any good to trip and wake the other people in the building.

Down below, the room was clear of people and obstructions. The tables were clear and clean, occasionally still marked with dirty streaks from overused rags. Chairs were pushed beneath the tables, leaving Ruby with plenty of room to maneuver around them.

Light streamed through the glass windows, peeking past the curtains and filling the room with a cold, blue-tinged light. The light, streaming in from the Watchlights outside, was far brighter than the natural moonlight- deliberately, of course; there would be little point in having them lit if they were not bright enough to pierce the shadows of the night.

The Watchlight, the name for a system of lanterns built in the cities of the four great kingdoms when they first began growing, was as much a relic of a more superstitious time as it was a precautionary defensive measure. A long time ago, ignorant people had thought that the Grimm had a whole lot of powers that they didn't actually have. Some myths still lingered, although nobody actually believed them any more. Beowulves, for instance, were once said to have had the ability to infect people with their bite. The victims would slowly transform, becoming more and more beastial, until they too took the form of a wolf.

The myth that had driven the creation of the Watchlight was one of the rare few that had more than a tangential connection to fact. Common folk, now long dead, had believed that Grimm were devils, creatures from the darkest pits of the underworlds. The creatures were believed to have the ability to hide within shadows, slipping unnoticed into cities and houses and striking while their victims were asleep.

The truth was a lot simpler. Grimm, nocturnal creatures that they were, were coloured accordingly. Their fur was often dark brown or dark green, although many Grimm had the ability to shift the colouring of their fur to match their surroundings during winter and fall. The white-and-red bone-like plates that often covered them served as further camouflage, allowing them to conceal themselves as boulders by curling in on themselves. Coupled with the long fur of the creatures, which served to break up their form in the night, Grimm were simply very hard to see.

Ruby's lip curled down as she stepped outside, closing her eyes briefly against the sudden flare of light before opening them and beginning to move away. Cities were annoying and crowded during the day, but they were somehow worse at night. She could almost hear the echoes of laughter as she passed through the market, feel the brush of clothing as people pushed past her- but when she turned, there was nothing there but a desolate street and row upon row of houses, leering down at her like menacing faces in the darkness, reaching out for her with steel claws and stone palms.

She shivered and increased her pace.

She really didn't like towns.

A short while later, she arrived at the gates, her cloak pulled tight around her chest. Four guards stood on duty, three manning a turret, one peering at her as she approached, clutching a spyglass to his chest. They were lit from behind by a bright white light, illuminating the empty fields beyond the wall for dozens of metres, up to the distant treeline. A typical gate defence system- Grimm would be drawn to the bright light over the darker segments of undefended wall, the fields outside the walls were cleared for dozens of metres in all directions to provide a clear line of sight and fire, and a scout would keep an eye out for approaching Grimm. A simple, reliable system that had once ensured the survival of everyone inside the walls.

The guard relaxed as she moved her cloak aside, letting him clearly see Crescent Rose and the emblem attached to the side. Although Crescent Rose was currently in its folded form, it still very clearly looked like a heavy duty gun of sorts, and thus marked her as a Hunter.

It was easy enough to make something that just looked like a Hunter's weapon, of course, but nobody ever did- travelling outside at night was basically suicide to anyone who wasn't a Hunter. Gate guards such as these had no obligation to stop anyone they thought weren't Hunters, anyway. Their job was to defend the wall, not to talk down clearly suicidal teens.

The gate was a typical gate- a massive thing of iron and steel, easily five times Ruby's height. Sure enough, there was a small door built in, large enough for her to slip through. She pressed the button built in beside it, then waited for the door to slide open before she stepped out and began moving towards the treeline.

The tension bled from her body as she stepped into the forest, lifting Crescent Rose from its position on her belt. The gun, released from storage, quickly shifted itself to rifle mode.

She breathed in deeply.

Everything here felt so much more natural than the controlled chaos of the city. The air was crisp and cold, carrying with it a faint scent of maple and oak. The trees bowed down, their branches seeming like they were waving, a welcoming gesture, and she gladly took the invitation. The moonlight filtered down through the canopy, spraying the ground with mottled light, reminiscent of the web of a spider- dark and confusing to most, but Ruby's eyes had long ago adjusted to nights within a forest.

The only sound she made as she passed through the forest was the faintest sigh of grass being crushed beneath her feet and the faint pat pat pat of her cloak against her legs. Her breathing was steady and even, and her gait was measured, carefully picking her path amongst the broken branches and dried leaves that cloaked the forest floor.

Her stealth wouldn't do her much good against an alert Grimm; most Grimm were able to see the heat you emanated from your body, to taste your scent on the air. Still, there was no sense in being incautious. They might be able to see her coming despite her stealth, but they would definitely see her coming if she abandoned stealth entirely.

Hunting was as much an art as a skill, in Ruby's opinion.

Grimm might be more intelligent than your average animal, but they weren't people, capable of thinking about how they were being hunted and come up with ways to avoid it. They could learn, they could adapt in combat, use terrain to their advantage, set crude traps and recognize the most dangerous combatants when attacked, but they couldn't become more than they were.

Beowulves, like the ones she was hunting, were some of the least intelligent Grimm, but in turn, that gave them a form of almost animalistic cunning. They took advantage of natural paths, gulleys, the paths carved over the years by the passage of goats and deer, to travel through the countryside without overly taxing themselves. Beowulves liked to hunt in packs; while a single Beowulf was a frightening beast of hulking muscle and menacing teeth, that wasn't where their true danger came from.

No. Beowulves were ambush predators, hunting down prey, then striking from behind while their prey was distracted by the presence of the pack's Alpha. They looked for easy prey, sheepherders, farmers living out of the protection of nearby cities. Often, the mere presence of a Hunter was enough to frighten off a back of Beowulves- better, they figured, to lose their prey for today than to lose half their pack.

Tracking Beowulves wasn't hard. Ruby only needed to search for several moments to uncover a path, a wild, untamed thing that nevertheless led her to a wider trail, bearing hoof marks and the furrowed prints that marked a fox, but also faint, disturbed boot marks- a sheepherder's trail, then.

She bit her lip, frowning. If there was a farm close by, then that would be a likely target for the Beowulves to attack; not only would there be sheep, and possibly cows, pigs and chickens, there would also be human flesh. A tempting target for the Grimm.

Moving faster now, she followed the path backwards, closer to the town she had left. It slowly widened, trees growing sparser and further apart as she moved. The grass was lower here, hardly tickling her ankles- in places, the grass had been eaten almost to the ground.

The wind was blowing hard here, carrying with it the sickly-sweet smell of copper and ash.

She moved faster, an ugly feeling rising in her gut. The Grimm had been active for hours alone today, for days before that- she moved even faster, jogging now.

Her pace slowed as the farmhouse came into view.

She was too late. The Grimm were already here.

Scenes of slaughter were inevitable if you were a Huntress. Hunting was a violent life, full of blood and death; thinking otherwise was ridiculous. There was nothing clean, wholesome or glorious about the profession. Huntresses fought; they were injured; they killed; they got paid; they went home; they recovered; then they went out and did it all again. A cycle that repeated itself, day in and day out, until one day they slipped up. The Grimm would win; the only question was how hard a Huntress would make them work for it.

This scene, as grisly as it was, wasn't the worst she had ever seen. Not even close.

The fields were painted red and white. Scraps of wool, torn and bloody, laid strewn across the grassy fields beneath them. Skeletons, stripped clear of meat and drained of marrow, lay in broken piles; a disturbing monument to the vile excesses of the Grimm.

Beowulves loped around the house, tall and menacing. Their features flickered as they moved, seeming almost to meld into the darkness around them- the creatures were only easily visible when they passed by the house's windows, where candlelight would reveal them for a brief moment before they melted back into the darkness. Discordant, keening cries echoed from them as they paced, a twisted mockery of the pained cries of loved ones.

Ruby's lip curled down as she hissed, holding Crescent Rose out in front of her. Her left hand slid down the gun's barrel, releasing the latch hidden there. The gun twisted and shook, bucking in her hands. Her hands tightened on the shaft as the scythe unfolded, blade whipping out last of all.

The weapon was taller than she was in scythe form, huge and unwieldy. It had suited her mother's frame far better than her own; she was short, not yet grown into her full height, while her mother had been tall and graceful. Her own muscles were lean and wiry, suited for quick, speedy combat. With her build, she was best suited for knives when she had to get up close to the enemy, or spears and glaives when she could afford to keep the enemy at a distance, thrusting through vulnerable spots in the enemy's guard. Her mother's build had been toned and taut, built up by years of wielding such a clumsy weapon.

Not that it mattered. Qrow had taught her well.

Crescent Rose wasn't the best weapon for her. It was tall and heavy, clumsy and awkward.

But at the same time, it was powerful. It was fast.

And Ruby could work with that.

She began to move forward, her stride confident and unwavering. The Beowulves wouldn't flee from her- they weren't the only things that could utilize camouflage. Ruby's dress, with its red frills, served to confuse the beasts- to them, she looked like she was bleeding and torn. Weak. Vulnerable.

The wind began to blow again. Ruby shifted, moving to her right, allowing the wind to blow her scent towards the Grimm- weak, hidden beneath the scent of the slaughtered sheep, but the creatures would pick up on it. Surely enough, it only took a moment for Grimm to turn towards her, sniffing the air, their keening cries turning to low, menacing growls.

Unmoving, the Beowulves watched her approach, red eyes shining as they tracked her approach. White bone-plates shone in the moonlight, outlining the red lines shot through them- an eerie display meant to intimidate her.

It might have even worked if she hadn't seen it all before.

She waited until she was less than a dozen metres away from them before she struck.

Ruby found it quite difficult to use Crescent Rose. It wasn't the weapon's height, although it was taller than she was. It wasn't even the bulk, although scrawny as she was, she wasn't exactly built for such a heavy weapon. It wasn't even that scythes were built with the blade on the inside of the curve, causing her to risk striking herself whenever she struck with it. No, the problem was that she wasn't strong enough to use it effectively. She couldn't move the scythe with enough force to slice a Beowulf in half.

Instead, she was forced to continually use the scythe's inbuilt rifle. The rifle's primary purpose was to whittle down approaching groups of enemies, or fire at fleeing Grimm, but the rifle did serve an additional purpose- by firing it, the scythe would rocket forward, the recoil lending the weapon far greater speed and power than Ruby could impart herself.

It was a deadly game she played, one where a single slip would mean her death. Grimm howled and snarled around her, charging forward, intent on ending her life, only to end on the wrong side of the scythe. Black blood soon matted the ground beneath her, soaking her clothes, the scythe's blade, but she ignored it, moving faster and faster. The grass was slick with blood, but her feet unerringly found purchase, seeking out patches of ground where the blood didn't pool.

Her breaths were coming fast now, a slow burn building in her limbs. She ignored it, ignored the foul smell of ash and blood and rotting meat, ignored the piercing, discordant howls made in an attempt to throw her concentration off. Blood trickled down her nose, over her lips, seeping into her mouth, and she spat it out in disgust- Grimm blood tasted awful, like ash and rot and stone, thick and pulpy.

Iron casings fell around her, falling on the corpses of the Grimm, the sound of their landing drowned out by pained howls and the loud, repetitive bang, bang, bang of Crescent Rose's rifle. Blood surged through her veins, rushing through her ears and drowning out everything but the sounds of the Grimm and her scythe.

She had no idea if she could actually win this fight. She hadn't stopped to count- she couldn't count, not this late at night- but she'd seen dozens of Beowulves, and hints of more behind them, well away from the illumination emanating from the house. She'd fought more deadly things than a pack of Beowulves, but that didn't afford her any protection against lesser Grimm.

The Grimm shifted soon, adapting to her tactics, rushing at her four, five, six at a time. Ruby moved faster, adrenaline and Aura surging through her body, but it wasn't enough. Claws raked up her arms, over her torso, drawing small furrows across her flesh- her Aura was fading, weakening. Red blood soon mixed with the black, running down her torso in small rivulets, dripping down into her boots and squishing unpleasantly between her toes as she moved.

She gritted her teeth against the pain, trying her best to ignore the burning in her arms, legs, chest, despite the way it was beginning to cause her muscles to tighten and cramp. She was slipping, her strikes landing wildly now, not the precise blows she had started with. Furry arms and legs flew through the air now, limbs lopped off the creatures as they rushed her, but they were coming slower and slower; they were learning to avoid her strikes now, to distract her and let the others rush in.

The scythe flashed, arcing and spinning through the air as she deftly handled it, firing more and more frequently, moving faster and faster. Her grip was tight, her hands were numb from holding the scythe tightly enough to prevent it slipping from her bloody hands, but still she moved. Fire ahead, angle the blade to the left, strike up, fire up, strike left, turn with the blade, fire again, spin back, fire up. A deadly dance, one that only grew more dangerous with every step.

Then her scythe carved through nothing but air, and she collapsed to her knees, drawing in a deep, ragged breath that sent her into a coughing fit. Howls filled the air as the Grimm fled, abandoning their assault in an attempt to save what remained of their pack. She tried to stand, to lift the scythe and fire at their retreating backs, but her legs shook and her head spun. She collapsed again, this time falling forward, only just managing to catch herself before landing face-first into the dirt.

Minutes past as she tried to regain her breath and stop her head spinning. Aura flowed sluggishly through her, slowly closing her wounds and replenishing her blood. Black blood trickled out of her wounds as they healed, slowly easing the burning pain in her limbs.

Eventually, the burning in her body eased enough that she was able to stand, although her legs were still shaky enough that she had to lean against Crescent Rose to remain on her feet.

Corpses litted the ground around her, scattered over a huge area, dozens of metres in every direction. She tried to count them- one, two, three- but lost count somewhere around four dozen. Surprising- although not that surprising, upon reflection; the only thing that could drive a Beowulf into an Ursa's territory was the threat of starvation. Half-starved Beowulves would not put up near as much of a fight as fresh Beowulves.

Grimacing, she limped over to the nearest corpse, ignoring the stabbing pain shooting from her left thigh. The Grimm's corpse had been cleaved nearly in two- she could be sure it was actually dead, rather than merely dying and biding its time in an attempt to attack her before she died.

The scythe swung out with a soft snick, slicing the Grimm's head clean off. A grisly trophy, to be sure, but unquestionably from the corpse of a Beowulf.

She turned to head off, but hesitated, glancing at the house. Should she- no, they'd be fine.

Sighing slightly, still covered in blood and cuts, Ruby began limping back the way she'd come, clutching the severed head against Crescent Rose.

By the time Ruby had made her way back to town, the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon. The forest, a mishmash of grey and blue during the night, was slowly being painted orange as it rose, and the sky, cloudy and overcast, was awash with brilliant purples and blues.

It was still dark enough that the brilliant lights affixed to the wall were shining, bathing the area in a light bright enough to blind her. She squinted as she approached, holding up her left hand to ward off the worst of the light. While it was an effective anti-Grimm measure, it was far less pleasant for any Hunters caught up in it.

As she approached the gate, the door swung open. The guard that stepped through, watching her cautiously, wasn't one of the guards that had been there when she had passed through earlier. Not surprising- few people could shift their schedules to be completely nocturnal like Hunters could.

She nodded at him as she passed. He smiled at her in turn, a tight, strained smile that didn't reach his eyes, and followed her back inside the gate. She hardly noticed him tapping something on the wall, causing the gate to slide shut with a low hiss behind them.

"The mayor's office is in the town square," the guard said neutrally. He pointed down the road that led to the gate, then gestured left. "Walk down this road for a while. When you reach the fountain, turn left. If you want, you could use the fountain to wash yourself. The mayor's office is on the north end of the square, the largest building there. He should be awake soon."

A tired smile flitted across her face. "Thank you for the directions," she murmured.

The street was dustier than she remembered. Every time she took a step, the dirt that covered the cobblestone road was flung up, then blown away by the wind. Crescent Rose tapped against the stones as she moved, still leaning on the scythe as she tried to ignore the burning pain in her legs- the wounds would heal, eventually.

There were few people out on the streets this early. Those who saw her took pains to avoid her, in some cases going so far as to retreat back into their houses when they saw her.

When she reached the fountain, she realized why.

She hadn't realized she was this messy. The Grimm blood had mostly congealed by now, leaving sticky trails of black blood running down her face and arms. Thankfully, her clothes concealed the worst of it, although there were many rips and tears in her dress where the Beowulves' claws had torn through it. Dried, flaking red blood matted her hair to the side of her face- when had she been hit in the head?- and covered the ends of her fingers, occasionally still falling from her fingers, a slow, steady stream of blood running from her.

The fountain's water was cold. It stung painfully against her wounds as she attempted to wash herself, causing her to hiss in pain as she dunked her hands in the water, scrubbing away at the dried blood there.

Her face was the most annoying bit to clean. A long, jagged cut ran down the side of her face- how she hadn't felt it earlier was beyond her. The motion of trying to scrub the dried blood off it was enough to cause it to reopen, causing her to sit there for a few moments, attempting to drag the dregs of her Aura up to heal it over.

Eventually, when Ruby deemed herself presentable enough- there was little she could do about her clothing at the moment, soaked in the liquid as it was, but the worst of the dried blood had been washed from her hands and head- she stepped away from the fountain. This would have to be good enough; it would take her hours to scrub the blood from her dress, and she could hardly do that without privacy. The stench of Grimm surrounded her, but that probably wouldn't be too much of a bother- she only had to go see the Mayor.

She really had to attempt to buy a new dress when she got to Atlas, something clean to wear when her dress got fouled like this. Travelling through the wilderness was no longer an excuse.

The sun was out now, burning low in the sky, bathing the town in leaning shadows and harsh sunlight. Her feet squished as she walked, an unpleasant squelching sound that she mostly ignored as she moved. Her socks were probably ruined now. Occasionally, droplets of blood ran down her arms, but her dress caught most of it, and her near-depleted Aura was still working away, slowly closing the bleeding wounds.

Low murmuring already filled the town square as she entered. Merchants were setting up their stalls, carefully arranging fresh produce, carved statues, lengths of cut meat, all set up as appealingly as possible.

People moved out of Ruby's way as she moved through- whether because of the smell of ash and rot, because of the presence of Crescent Rose, still unfolded in scythe mode so she could lean on it as she walked, or because of the severed head of the Beowulf clutched in her hand, she couldn't say. The murmurs ceased as she passed, only to spring up again once she had moved on, louder than ever.

True to the guard's words, the mayor's house was easy to locate. The mayor's office was the largest building in the square, three floors high with a tiled roof. The buildings around it were far smaller- even the inn Ruby was staying at was only two floors high.

Inside, a secretary was sitting at a desk, rapidly moving his hands over a holopad sitting in front of him. His head jerked up as she opened the door, causing it to squeal loudly. The expression he made upon seeing her was almost comical.

"Uh, I'll, I'll go get the Mayor," he squeaked, his eyes focusing on the Beowulf's head. Ruby nodded politely, then stepped further inside, allowing the door to close behind her.

He reappeared a short while later, sweat covering his brow. "Please follow me," he said, his hands twisting anxiously. When Ruby nodded, trying to smile widely at him, he flinched and turned away, his movements quick and anxious. Pain shot through her legs as she hurried to follow him.

The Mayor was a tall, slender man, sitting inside a windowless office, lit only by a brazier on his desk. His hair was red, but she could see white hairs beginning to come through, and spectacles sat on the bridge of his nose as he squinted at her. There was a woman standing behind him, shorter than the Mayor but far stockier. Her eyes were hard as she glanced at Ruby.

"Well, well, well," the Mayor said smoothly. "Thank you, Jason. You can go now."

The secretary bobbed his head up and down, relief plastered over his face as he turned and left. Ruby stood awkwardly in the centre of the room, waiting for anybody to speak up. Nobody did; the Mayor was too busy leafing through a book, his brow wrinkled, and the woman had turned her head away to stare at the bookcase set against the wall. Ruby shuffled her feet, looking around- not that there was much to look at; there were small hanging gardens outside the window, two bookcases set side-to-side beside the Mayor's desk, stacked with thick leather-bound books, and the Mayor's desk, empty but for an inkwell, a lit brazier and the book he was leafing through.

"You killed the Beowulves?" the Mayor said eventually.

Ruby nodded, holding up the severed head. Blood had mostly stopped dripping out of it before she'd walked into the Mayor's office, so she wasn't too concerned about having to pay for new carpeting for him. "I did."

The woman tilted her head, looking the teen over for a moment. "How many were there?" she asked, a quizzical tilt to her eyebrows.

Ruby shrugged. "I couldn't count them very well. I killed at least four dozen."

The woman frowned, but nodded, looking at Crescent Rose. "I see. She could be telling the truth."

"Good," the Mayor said. "I'll have to send someone out to verify the death of the Grimm- I hope you understand, we can't just take you at your word. Could you please tell us where you found them?"

The path she had taken wasn't precisely hidden, and she had left a rather messy trail behind- broken branches and crushed leaves, as well as the dripping blood. Any semi-competent tracker should be able to follow it. She gave them a short description, mentioning the animal trail and the larger sheepherder's trail, before trailing off.

Standing behind the Mayor, the woman's eyes were cool and calculating as she looked her over. He had taken the woman's words at face value, and she had known enough to accept that Ruby may have killed them, despite being as young as she was. A Huntress, then, if she was able to recognize her mother's scythe so easily.

"I didn't get them all," Ruby said finally. "Some got away, but they shouldn't come back."

Tilting his head toward the woman, the old man waited for her to nod before he responded. "Well, that should be fine," he said dismissively. "Now, are you in a particular hurry?"

"No," she said quietly. "I have a lot of spare time before I leave tomorrow."

He nodded, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Well, in that case, my associate here will verify your account. If you speak to my secretary on your way out, he'll take your details, and deliver your payment to you when my associate returns. Is that okay?"

"Yeah."

He smiled at her, waving away at her, shoo shoo. "That's all then."

Ruby nodded, a small smile on her face as she turned around and left.

Five thousand lien.

That was sure to be enough to pay someone to find out who killed her mother.


End file.
